Harry Potter and the Four Brothers
by cwamcd
Summary: Harry is 19, working to bring down Voldemort. He took advantage of the first 2 years of the war to travel and train. Now Voldemort is back to full strength, the war is picking up. It seems he's still always 1 step behind. Can he find the help he needs?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It'd be nice though.

**Chapter 1: Reminiscing **

Privet Drive was burning. _'Apathy is a curious thing'_, Harry Potter-Black thought to himself absentmindedly. The call had come in to Grimmauld Place less than ten minutes ago, and now the group of twenty stood in the middle of the street; right in the middle of his own childhood nightmare. _'Flames have brightened things up a bit…'_

Sometime after 5th year, in a coup orchestrated by Sirius, and a flat-out ultimatum given by Harry himself, Dumbledore had finally pulled his head out of his arse and ended the chess master act. The goblins told him about some interesting discrepancies in his accounts. This, as well as the revelations come to, about not only Dumbledore but his "friends" too, during his occlumency sorting, resulted in a mean independent streak and a summer change that had Hogwarts doing a double-take the next year. The bridges were burnt, but Harry was no longer as naïve as he once was.

He had taken the time to travel and grow up. The bastards were loathe to let him leave, but Harry was quick to just tell them to fuck off and look appreciatively at the freshly signed emancipation papers in his hands. Hell, the way he saw it, that thrice-damned prophecy was a get out of jail free card in life threatening situations that were unrelated to the Dark Lord. So, everyone parted ways at the bank; Hermione looking contrite and depressed, Ron guilty, Mrs. Weasley disapproving, and Harry with nary a glance back.

He showed up on September 1st three months later half a foot taller, more muscular, sporting a slight tan, in tailored robes, with a decidedly more confident and dangerous air about him, and a smirking Daphne Greengrass on his arm.

Needless to say there were mixed reactions.

After that things went smoothly, for Harry at least. The rest needed a few preconceptions shattered, but once they were, Harry and the others were finally able to develop a working relationship and move forward again.

And so, eventually, things got moving back into some semblance of normalcy, at least as far as it is able to in the life of the raven haired now-19-year-old. Hermione got up the nerve to ask what the runes that started at his wrist and wound around his arm were. Mrs. Weasley frowned at some of his new scars (luckily she only saw the ones from the dueling tournaments). Best of all, Dumbledore inquired about his training and knowledge. Then he offered to expand it. After he had gone through Filius, Minerva, Mad Eye, Kingsley, Moony, Snape, and (unknown to all but Snape) Tom Riddle in a roundabout-mind-connection sorta way. Yeah, he made out like a bandit. Not that he hadn't had a myriad of instructors over five continents during the time manipulated eight month summer, but still. It's Dumbledore; the man is a legend for a reason.

So, now, here he was. Four years after the battle at the Department of Mysteries and that emotion-fuelled summer, here he was standing outside the place that was his "home" for fifteen years, trying to muster up some kind of feeling.

"Harry Potter….." The words were whispered, but as if by magic, carried through the chaos and down the street. Harry snapped his head up, heart rate increasing, time seeming to slow. Out of the shadows stepped the man -no, monster- who had defined Harry's existence since he was a year old. Behind him, sat cowered and whimpering the three Dursleys, broken and bloody but amazingly still alive.

Most of the Inner Circle stepped out along the street forming an eerie macabre procession up to their Lord. Shiny silver masks glinted in the setting sun, even all four lieutenants accented in black and gold. They really had gone all out sacking the Ministry and killing Minister Scrimgeour along with three Department Heads. Nineteen Order of the Phoenix members moved to meet them.

Dead silence.

The whole debacle had been touch and go for the first two years, and continued to be slight skirmishes in the shadows. No longer was the "peace" to last. In the coming months those of the affected generation would develop quite a morbid sense of humor, they would have to in order to stay sane. The common joke would go something along the lines of "remember when we would only have to worry about the occasional strange disappearance; those were the good ole days!"

Voldemort stepped into the street and drew his wand. Yew and Phoenix feather, one of two. Simple, but a very deadly combination; a fact the people of England could attest to. The rest of those fighting on both sides cleared out of the middle of the street, they knew better than to interfere by now. Those that got in between the two archmages wound up dead.

Harry focused his mind, channeling just the right amount of adrenaline and reflex into his body. Controlled chaos is what it was, no doubt about it. Twin flicks of the wrist and two wands appeared in his hands, and in that moment all was right in his world. Peace is what he strove for, true, but Harry Potter-Black was a fighter, born and bred. In his left, Holly and Phoenix feather, one of two. Familiar, warm, comforting. And powerful, very very powerful. In his right, crafted just for him and blood-bonded underneath an infamous back alley store in Moscow, Granadillo with a core of Cerberus hair suspended in the blood of an Ala demon. Energizing and reassuring. And deadly, oh so very deadly.

Harry was smiling now. Bringing his Holly wand up before him a few advanced shields in mind, he dropped into his own personal dueling stance with his Granadillo wand at shoulder height and retracted to just under his chin ready to throw any number of dangerous spells, whatever the situation may call for.

The Dark Lord almost always started with something amazingly painful, and obscure. Perhaps a Peruvian Disembowelment Hex? By now Harry could just read him like that, something that pissed Bella off to no end. '_Heh, at least I annoy her, it's something I suppose'_.

Driving the last distractions from his mind Harry took a deep breath, swiveled a bit, and locked eyes with his opponent.

With a vicious flick Voldemort sent a bright orange light careening his way. Half a step to the side and twist, a dueling shield to deflect the banisher on the tail of the first, use the momentum to turn and bring his Granadillo wand to bear and scream _'Pyrus Impactus' _in his head. As Voldemort dove out of the way of the fiery bludgeoner, Harry thought _'hmm…Romanian asphyxiator'_.

The war had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Nothing. All I have is a laptop and a backpack.

**Chapter 2: Wand Waving and Magic Words**

'_Well…this started out better than I had hoped it would'_. The momentary lapse in attention cost him as he saw no less than seven Avada Kedavras volleying towards him. _'Shit, duck and conjure'_ Harry had found it highly amusing that there was a wizarding equivalent to the age-old disaster mantra. But, he had trained with three separate aurors personally, and when an overwhelming number of unblockable curses intent on ripping out your soul are bearing down upon you, you damn well better duck and conjure.

Down in a crouch, Harry flicked his left wrist and called out _"Avis Obsessio" _and was promptly surrounded by birds forming a blockade in front of him, seven of which were immediately destroyed. Quickly, Harry disillusioned himself and rolled out from behind the fluttering wall of birds, and even as he did so a wave of his wand sent them shrieking at Voldemort. Getting fed up, the Dark Lord wandlessly sent a thin wall of fire to disintegrate the rest. Who would have ever thought that one of the darkest lords in the last 1500 years would happen to be a fire elemental?

Animated vines leapt out of the ground and begun winding around Voldemort. Without even glancing down he sent a pulse of magic through his entire body that turned them into cobras which started to hone in on Harry's position.

However, Harry had not been idle during this, he had moved to the side of Voldemort and been discreetly transfiguring and disillusioning. There were now four small invisible idols surrounding the Dark Lord. They glowed blue briefly, and Voldemort was snapped to the ground on his back in the crucifixion pose as if by a magnet. He growled and started the chant to dispel the effects under his breath.

Harry ran from his cover with both wands out to the side pointed at the ground, magic trailing from both of them. As he passed the leaves on the ground rose about a foot off the ground, the edges of which became serrated, and the area directly behind reinforced with magic. They spun around his feet making quick, bloody work of the snakes. Without pausing in his stride, Harry brought his wands up to cross over his chest, on the way up simultaneously tapping his calves. The muscles inside coiled tightly, always unpleasant, and like a spring they catapulted him into the air, right over where Voldemort was now frantically muttering the chant.

Slashing both out Harry yelled _"Caedeo"_. It was a dark cutter, in the same league as _Sectumsempra_ but more uniform and less fluid, it met shields with the same resistance and was quite easy to link with other offensive spells. It was therefore quite popular to use as a shield breaker. The mildest in the series of five, but if the Dark Lord went bodiless now, he'd find out that his soul pieces were not as plentiful as he may have believed.

According to Oswald's Three Areas of Affinity law, every witch/wizard has three fields of magic that just come natural to them, where they excel. The first is a familial trait, something that is passed down and therefore is no secret among the old families; muggleborns, lesser known orphans, and illegitimate children start the trait of their line, sometimes as a second personal talent, sometimes influenced by their muggle family in some way. The second is a personal power, this one usually comes out during schooling, the child's best subjects at least pointing to it. This is totally individual and independent of every other variable. The third affinity, however, that is compiled by all the influences of the individual's surrounding environment during magical puberty and maturation. Harry grew up in a loveless home, had dangerous life threatening adventures at school, and shared a mind and soul link (now just mind) with the fourth most powerful and second most knowledgeable Dark Lord ever. His Third Affinity: dark offensive spells.

Voldemort finally won out and rolled hard. He still caught the tail end of one of the cutters and lost his left hand. For him, so far gone from humanity as he was, he'd be able to grow it back. That wasn't the issue, it was more the principle of the whole thing. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort, people did not cut off his hands. He was now royally pissed. The thing that was once Tom Riddle Jr. snarled and sent a chain of bone breakers in an arc as Harry rolled, capping it off with a flame cutter. Harry was able to dodge the first two, shield against the third and fourth, but he had no way out of the flame cutters path; a flame cutter that was decidedly more dangerous looking than Dolohov's. With a deer-in-the-headlights look, Harry could only watch as the purple beam of light came straight towards his chest. Then, with an almighty pop, a large circular wooden object took the curse. In a fiery mass, splinters flew everywhere, it was so unexpected neither Voldemort nor Harry were able to stop the shards burrowing into their ribs.

Harry's eyes were wide with disbelief. _'No, no freaking way, oh he's never going to let this go…'_ A look at the man's grizzled grin confirmed it. Mad-Eye had just cracked Malfoy Sr.'s sternum and turned to see the barrage of yellow bone breakers and the purple of the last gather on Voldemort's wand, and had lobbed his wooden leg to intercept it.

With Malfoy out of the way, and only one leg to stand on, rather than find another opponent Moody stood to the side and started taking potshots at Voldemort's flank, distracting him long enough for Harry to take to the offensive.

Taking a handful of marbles out of his pocket, Harry rolled them down the street. Once they got close enough, a transfiguration and slight compulsion had Voldemort surrounded by wolves about to pounce on him. The second he moved to get rid of them, Harry dropped his left foot behind him, with his right arm fully extended bellowed _"Exitium"_ and all the magic he had been pooling left his wand in a dazzlingly bright peach colored light. Harry's arm buckled from the force but he stayed still to see how the Dark Lord would handle this one. Any normal wizard would be raining down upon the muggle street in little bits and pieces. Any highly skilled wizard with combat experience would take the lesser of two evils and summon some kind of _Aegis _shield and let the wolves bite them. An out-of-the-ordinary sorcerer would probably summon a few of the wolves into the curse and try to sidestep the rest. So, Harry added an anti-summoning charm.

Voldemort, however, was no ordinary wizard, and felt the charm. Rather than break it, which was also an option since he was still slightly stronger than the Boy-Who-Lived, he shot something straight into the incoming curse causing it to split into smaller sections and scatter into different directions. One to each of the wolves.

Back near the beginning of the line, the Blacks were some of the most deadly assassins known to Europe and Asia. When Harry had gone through the adoption ritual before Sirius died, on thing he inherited was "the Sight". Not like a seer, thankfully, no this was more like a battle sense where in the heat of it everything slows down and he would know instinctually exactly what to do to take out his opponent. Well, he was still working on that. It was all wonky, he definitely couldn't control when to engage the damn thing, and as for the dispatching of Dark Lords? Well, it hadn't happened as of yet. But, for some reason, his blood and magic felt that this would be a good time for the Battle Sight.

Right as the wolves exploded, time came to a standstill for the two, and Voldemort stood there smirking, wreathed in blood and body parts. They locked eyes and with a smile that was almost feral, Voldemort banished every floating bit of wolf around him at Harry at close to 300 mph before they even had the chance to start falling. Harry, who was still standing there mouth agape at what Voldemort had done to his destruction curse, did not have the chance to move. Luckily his Unspeakable issue cloak's protective charms kicked in at the last second so that he did not look like a piece of Swiss cheese. They could not stop him from being thrown thirty feet through the air, however.

As he struggled to pick himself up off the ground despite the loud protests from his ribs, Harry decided that he really needed to end this and get out of there, now. Both combatants were battered up, Voldemort had successfully destroyed his childhood home, and in all likelihood, had completely forgotten about the three muggles huddled now in some bushes staring wide-eyed at the scene before them.

His mind decided, Harry began gathering all of his reserves to him and evened out his breathing as best he could. Moody, having apparently come to the same conclusion, and recognizing what Harry was about to do, started hurling Killing Curses directly at Voldemort with reckless abandon. Those nineteen Order members and twelve Inner Circle Death Eaters still fighting paused at looked at the retired Master Auror in awe. No one really knew how much magic Moody had at his disposal. That was, of course, just the way Moody liked it. Very few people could throw around THAT curse such as Mad-Eye was currently doing.

Meanwhile, Harry had finally reached that halfway point to his center and with a flick, the Holly wand was back in its holster. He took his remaining wand in both hands, locking his elbows and shoulders. He loved his first wand to death; they had learned together and grown together. But some things required certain instruments to achieve the desired goals. The same things he was attempting now. As Harry prepared his trump card, the sky darkened and a magical wind swept through Surrey, tingling and hyper extending the magical senses of all present. The Ala blood in his wand seemed to come alive and churn with power and excitement, pulsating in time with the thrum of his magic; which was now rolling off of him in waves, dissolving every spell within a five foot radius of his body. His pupils dilated completely, caught in the throes of the magical high. This was dangerous, he knew, and he'd be out of it for a couple of days. But it was worth it. He struggled to stay lucid enough to keep the now vibrating wand pointed at the Dark Lord.

Of those present Ron, Tonks, Remus, Moody, and surprisingly, Bellatrix had seen this before. With an apologetic glance at her master, the latter quickly appartated away while the four others used the lull in attention to incapacitate their opponents and move directly behind Harry. Most of the other Order members seeing this hastened to follow.

Voldemort had meanwhile thrown up his strongest magical shield and braced himself, ready to throw all he had into maintaining it. He wasn't quite done here, and he was determined to meet this challenge and emerge like all those before: alive and in control. There were, to date, only two bits of magic in Harry's arsenal that could worry the Dark Lord like that, and unfortunately they were all-or-nothing moves, as they left the caster totally drained. The other spell was used in tunnel digging. While more focused, it didn't quite compare to the magnitude or force of this summons, and in his current state Harry doubted he would last long anyway. Voldemort was stronger, and this way he at least had the help of his wand.

Bad weather demon blood and the hair off a guardian of the underworld. Beautifully ironic then, that he was about to "bring the heavens down upon them". In Welsh, that is. Struggling to not black out, Harry took a deep breath and bellowed _**"chyrch 'r nefoedd i lawr arnyn!" **_

The dark sky, which had become a veritable tempest, started to churn; dark clouds, torrents of rain and hell frost, sleek sheets of sleet along with rolls of lightning and gale-force winds spun themselves into a cyclone and converged onto where the Dark Lord knelt under a dome of bright golden light. It looked as if Harry had literally brought the sky down to punish this one individual. Straight out of Greek mythology it was…..epic.

While working with the magical division of the United States military, Harry had been told to "bring the rain". Well, he did. He now had a whole operation of Marine Corps named after him.

Luckily, for Voldemort, Harry was already near to exhaustion, and could not keep it up. After the storm broke through his shield, it had only lifted him about 150 feet and not yet begun to tear him limb from limb when it began dissipating.

Floating back down to earth, Voldemort landed lightly on his feet and looked towards where Harry was swaying on his feet, the Order members behind him shell-shocked. "Impressive Harry, very impressive. You should reconsider my offer." But Harry heard none of this, he was lost in his own little world. Finally feeling the adrenaline wear off and the battle catch up to him, Voldemort sighed before casting the Dark Mark right above Number Four and disappearing without a sound.

Tonks had watched in disbelief as Harry, again, did his pseudo-god thing. She felt more than saw him come to his end and the clouds dissipate. Five minutes later there was clear skies and no evidence whatsoever they had ever been any different. _'Damn that kid is something else…'_

Harry stumbled into her arms mumbling incoherently, and as he did her breath hitched and her grip on his robes tightened. _'Oh, I will get you back for that one just you wait'_ This type of magic left a person with little remaining in their core, but with a lot of pure energy coursing through the body. It's a refreshing experience for a person's magic and the body responds very positively, but also very sensitively. The magical channels all stay open so as to recharge from natural ley lines, magical beings, and the ambient magic around them. And with those "circuits", so to speak, open and conducting, the barest hint of contact can be quite the experience. When Harry collapsed flush against the young metamorphmagus, she nearly lost her mind at the sensation. She probably wouldn't sleep for days now.

Considering this, Harry was all-in-all useless for the debriefing back at headquarters. When Dumbledore asked for a description of what happened, Tonks just shrugged and said "He did some crazy magic stuff." Dumbledore sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, with a long-suffering look on his old wrinkled face. Finally she just broke out laughing and pushed the near-comatose-but-at-the-same-time-on-sensory-overload nineteen year old into the sitting room after cleaning him up.

"There just the person I'm looking for" Tonks said in relief. Daphne looked up from her book and once she saw Harry being supported frowned in concern. However, as soon as Tonks explained what had happened and handed him over, she looped an arm through his and a split second later was dragging him towards their rooms. As they reached the stairs she called over her shoulder "don't worry I'll take good care of him." And with a wicked gleam in her eyes and a saucy smile, they were gone, Harry still grinning like an idiot. _'Although now he might have good reason to'_ Tonks thought with a chuckle. Then groaned as she realized how sore and dirty she was. _'Magical Jacuzzi Tub, here I come'_

And with that, she wandered up the stairs, already planning ways to get back at the young archmage for loading her up on raw energy.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, it's been awhile. I wanted to slow down on this chapter because I was so unhappy with the last two. Still not sure about it, but oh well here it is. So, one thing I forgot in ch. 1 was that the bad guys went to Privet Drive as an extra/celebration after the Ministry. Voldemort killed Scrimgeour and some other big names in the gov. (not Bones, she's alive and will proble be Minister now). Anyway, hopefully this chapter will be a bit better, even though nothing much happens. Filler, ya know? Oh, and I don't really proof at all, and am definitely rusty, so any errors, inconsistencies, something that doesn't 'flow', or is just dumb, feel free to point it out. Hell, the first two chapters were just pumped out in the library between classes, type and post. Sooooo….yeah.**

**Proclamation of Worthlessness: Nothing is mine; most of the characters, plot devices, items within the story, scenarios, heck even some of the spells are unoriginal. So I hereby disclaim any and all creativity, nonexistent ill-begotten gains, and most of all imaginary profits made of such mediocrity. And I don't care. So suck it. **

**Ch. 3: The Last Day at Grimmauld**

Harry woke to find himself wrapped in soft, warm girl. Cracking open an eye, a tangled mass of blonde revealed that girl to be Daphne Greengrass: his ally, confidant, best friend, and lover. And the only reason he was able to keep his head above waters his last two years at Hogwarts. She knew everything, every last secret, every traumatic memory; she was the one person on this earth that had his full trust.

Harry didn't think that they had ever actually talked blandly about themselves as a dating arrangement, but they both knew. He was hers, and she was his. They would make it official after the bloody war was over.

Casting a quick wandless breath freshening charm, Harry pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck, kissing under her ear. This woke her…kinda. Daphne was not a morning person at all.

"Mm…go 'way." she mumbled even as she looked up at him through bleary half-lidded eyes. "Good morning gorgeous." he whispered, prompting her to smile sleepily before placing a light kiss on his collarbone, then proceeding to snuggle closer into his chest and wrap her arms and legs around him firmly and possessively.

'_Wow, tight grip for someone who's half asleep'_ he thought amusedly to himself. She mumbled something into his chest, but he couldn't make out what it was. Chuckling softly, she was already asleep again, he thought over their time together. There really was no telling where he would be now if it wasn't for this adorable sleepy goddess in his arms. _'Hmm possibly dead, yeah or wallowing in self pity. Yeah, one of those two.'_ Sighing in contentment, he listened to the chirp of the birds and relished the cool morning air seeping in through the open window. It was a very refreshing contrast, the warmth provided by the tangled bodies heaped in the sheets to the light and gentle breeze of cold awash over exposed skin.

A bright smile on his face, Harry continued breathe in her scent and stroke her wild hair absentmindedly, thinking over how much better the nearly four years with Daphne in his life were to the sixteen without.

The inhabitants of Number 12, Grimmauld Place could go on without his presence awhile longer, Harry decided, moments like these were precious, and soon to be few and far in between. Best enjoy them while he could. Sorting this memory into his mind's subcategories of 'very important', 'top ten most bestest moments ever', and 'Daphne'. Yes, she had her own section; a truly amazing girl, this one. Putting them to a backdrop of peace and serenity, he then slowly immersed them in love, a relatively new substance for him. Smiling even broader than before, Harry took an echo of the whole thing and brought it right to the forefront of his mind. Hehe, it'd be near impossible to upset him now, be fun for Nymphy later. Finally done and at peace with the world, Harry drifted back off to sleep, his last thought _'woe unto any dementors I stumble across from here on out'_.

Two hours later a refreshed and smiling Daphne Greengrass emerged from her and Harry's private rooms into the hive of activity that was the Black London Manor. Still sporting an impish smile from her stellar wakeup and inwardly rolling her eyes at leaving Harry dosing off again in the bathtub (honestly and he made fun of _her_ in the morning), she made her way into the kitchen looking for a bite to eat. Grimmauld Place was teeming with activity this morning as everyone was packing up and getting ready for the move back to Hogwarts. The castle had become a safe haven and many families had taken up refuge. The castle practically sang with magic what with so much life in it, and Hogwarts herself was overjoyed at the chance to shelter so many of her children. Now, what with yesterdays events at the Ministry, there would most likely be a right little community in residence for the foreseeable future. It was up to the Order to keep this bastion of resistance operational and safe.

Sliding onto a barstool at the table, Daphne began fixing a plate with the food laid out for everyone. There were always Order members coming in and going out at all times of the day and night, so Mrs. Weasley went buffet style, and there was always a hot meal available. Everyone did what they could.

Glancing up, Daphne saw one of Harry's more consistent friends, Pilos Matrell, with his nose buried in an old yellowed book. When Daphne let out a light snort, _'like __**that**__ was surprising'_, she caught the attention of the seventh year Ravenclaw. He raised his eyes to her and cocked an amused eyebrow, not in the least ashamed.

In all reality, the guy didn't need to still be in school, none of the Matrells did. They were all very capable wizards when they joined the Order of the Phoenix, despite that at the time Pilos was a tender fourteen and his older brothers, Castor and Pollux, were seventeen. However, everyone thought it was best to have a connection to the students and general populace. Pilos certainly wasn't complaining; more time to learn. Although Pilos didn't have quite the sheer amount of power the twins did, he was far more intelligent and knowledgeable. He delighted in throwing obscure curses that no one could recognize, making shielding a bad idea, and often times making you jump into some elaborately laid out trap. Said it was a tactic he picked up from the best dueler he'd ever known. Bloody frustrating is what it was.

"Good morning Miss Greengrass." Pilos greeted mock-inquisitively, "something funny?"

"Oh nothing, no reason to pause research, please don't mind me oh great future Unspeakable." Daphne answered with a sardonic grin and roll of her ice blue eyes.

"Psh. It'll be a cold day in Hell when you catch a Matrell with a Ministry job. _Particularly_ the British Ministry."

"Well you never know, you are already showing symptoms. Self absorbed. Nose in a book. Always tinkering away mysteriously with some odd experiment." Her eyebrows rose challengingly.

"Hmpf. You didn't seem to be too averse to studying when you were getting that neat little certificate."

When she first came back with Harry for sixth year, that know-it-all Granger had all but called her spoiled and useless. Stuck up little bitch. Now, she was one of the youngest Charms Mistresses, ever. But she had gotten an apology, and it seemed like that was a wakeup call for the Muggleborn witch to get off her high horse. However, Hermione hadn't been alone; she had been the only Old Family name around for quite awhile, so to most of the judgmental Gryffindor Light wizards and witches, she was automatically an evil pureblood bigot. And a snake. They said that like it was an insult. As if.

On the other hand, she had always gotten on well with the young man before her. Quite frankly, he didn't give a shit about preconceptions and stigmas. Pilos had taken the time to get to know her, rather than judge her. It had gone a long way to convincing the others, and both Daphne and Harry were thankful to the Matrell brothers for that. Now, it amazed her how comfortable she was with all these people. They had finally come around and their worlds weren't quite so black and white anymore.

You could definitely say the Matrell family toed the line between light and dark. The twins, Castor and Pollux, couldn't have been more different. Castor was a Gryffindor through and through. Fiercely loyal and protective of those he cares about as well as the innocent and defenseless. He was not the most levelheaded thinker, but he made up for this by living a simple life and not caring one way or another. Castor was a man who accepted his strengths and compensated for his weaknesses well. He worked hard, and beside Dumbledore or Harry, was the best damn fighter in the entire Order. He was also firmly in Dumbledore's camp. Pollux, on the other hand, was a dark wizard. It was kind of an open secret type thing, like Snape. No one really talked about it, but he didn't exactly hide the fact. For awhile, he had been teetering on the brink, looking for something to push him to Voldemort. That was then, this is now. He may be dark, but he wasn't evil, and Voldemort stood for something Pollux couldn't believe in. Also, they didn't talk about it with others, it was obviously a sensitive and taboo subject, but Daphne had wheedled out of Moody that there was another brother, and he would be livid to find a Dark Lord's mark on Pollux's soul. And that apparently sealed it. Whoever the mysterious other brother was, the three obviously put a lot of stock in his approval. There was definitely something the Matrell name meant to the older generation, but they weren't talking. Anyway, since he chose a side, Pollux had become much more active for the Order. He still didn't fight much, the true Dark community was a minority and most members of it found something intrinsically wrong with taking up arms against each other. However, he was an excellent source of information, a contact with the other side, and someone who could comfortably stroll down the darker side of town. Unlike his twin however, Pollux distrusted and despised Albus Dumbledore with a passion. That seemed to be the polarizing difference between the twins. It didn't drive a wedge between the two like everyone thought it would though, Pilos too was wary of the Headmaster; even Castor seemed understanding of his brother's attitude. It drove Daphne spare that none of them would explain their reasons for this.

So despite everything, all the differences, the three were a very tight-knit group. Always a family first. Disagreements, allegiances, loyalties-it all could be dealt with later; things like that just took a back seat. It was a new concept to some around here, but there was a fierce love and loyalty to each other first, the rest of the world second. Daphne often found herself wondering who instilled that philosophy in the boys, or how they grew up to come out so well. She had gathered from talking to Pilos that they were left alone to fend for themselves at a very young age, that must have something to do with it.

All three were tall and thin, but Daphne had figured it was a genetic thing because they were all very healthy and exercised regularly. No matter their background they had come out better from it, for they all had some measure of confidence and charisma in the way they carried themselves, and a burning pride in their accomplishments. Some pureblood aristocratic features shone through, like the almond shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and a deadly graceful poise; but the other nationalities were dominant. They were darker than the British, although they had long since lost their tans, with stronger jaws, and a more rugged handsomeness. The twins were just recently slightly shorter than Pilos at around 5'10", while he stood just about 1/8 of an inch shy of six feet. Castor's hair was a sandy brown grown into a long ponytail, while Pilos and Pollux both had the Matrell darker brown, almost black. Pilos had once again decided to mock some pureblood traditions and cut his hair pretty short and let it do its own thing, only on formal occasions styling it into a neat faux-hawk. Pollux favored to let it hang down, but kept it out of his face. Rounded out with bright green eyes, they were certainly not unattractive.

Daphne was broken from her musings by Pilos commenting that the move would likely be more permanent this time around, and bemoaning the loss of the Black Family Library.

"Oh don't whine so much Py, I'm sure there's some forgotten book or other lying around in a thousand-year old magical school."

He scoffed, "I know there is, I just can't access it." Pilos responded cryptically, Daphne was of the opinion he did this purely for her….benefit. "SO, how goes it with you and the goon squad?" (Daphne closed her eyes and grimaced. _'Bloody Yank…'_) "I mean, things are heating up now, how many pieces are left then?"

Eyes narrowed, she nonetheless allowed the change in subject and responded, "Four. The locket, the cup, that damned snake, and the Dark Lord himself."

He hummed in agreement and surprise. Daphne was part of the group hunting down the Horcruxes; her Charms skill made her invaluable in disassembling wards and detecting enchantments. They decided to keep the group small, so as to counteract any spies they may have in the Order. It took two hours before Pilos knew of the group's purpose, three and he had a complete list of those in the group. It really shouldn't surprise her. Pilos just knew things, and was an extremely curious person by nature. Still, Heaven help her if he called them that…name…one more time.

"Is that so? Well I am most sorry, it appears as if I've underestimated you." He looked in the same instance contrite and yet totally unrepentant. It must be another family trait, being able to display completely contrasting emotions at the same time.

"Hmm, well your assessment may well have been true," she conceded, "but they got the advantage of a Slytherin perspective. How could we possibly fail?" She admonished lightly with a cheeky grin. He just shook his head.

"So where's Harry?"

Harry was, at the moment, in the lower levels of the Black house, cleaning out some of the storage rooms. He hadn't been down here for years, since before Sirius died. They had gone down here to get away from prying eyes and ears; they talked about the Black family history, the wars, his parents, or even just nonsensical things. It was down here that they became so close. Where Sirius became a father and brother to him, where he helped Harry work through his stress and guilt, where he became his biggest confidant.

It all seemed so far away now, and Harry had avoided these levels for the most part. But, today the Order was officially at war. Harry was still confused and loopy from his duel the day before, and he wanted to be alone. He thought he could handle it now, everything finally 'happening', thought he was ready for the pressure of being a recognized figure in the war; rather than all the denial and shadow-play. Order members Harry didn't personally know looked at him in awe, Hermione was still trying to get him to 'talk', like he had just saved her from a troll and she hadn't yet tried to steal his money and make him a martyr, and the Dursleys were huddled together shooting him fearful and contemplative glances. It was either from his display and saving them yesterday, or being in a house of 'freakishness', probably both. Either way, the world in which a Dursley contemplates anything, is not a world Harry wanted to live in. So, he bailed down here.

Moving some boxes around in a far corner, Harry discovered a small square door that he knew hadn't been there before. In their first sparring matches, one of Sirius's favorite things to do was send him flying through the air. Harry had become intimately acquainted with every inch of wall.

Harry cautiously gave it a push. There was a click, followed by some displacement of air, and it swung inward. Harry thought about it for all of three seconds before shrugging and crawling in, wand lit in front of him. The others would most likely gripe about crawling into a dark hole in the dark evil house without alerting them. The very thought strengthened his resolve. Harry just really felt as if he should keep this discovery to himself. Weird.

The room inside was…clean. Which was overall very unexpected. Relaxing slightly, Harry surveyed the room he had crawled into. It was by no means luxurious, but it couldn't be described as sparse either. There was a decent sized, comfortable looking bed and a monstrous desk with many whirring magical instruments shelved in little alcoves on it. On the wall above the desk were thirty or so glowing orbs embedded in the stone of varying colors and brightness, with a location carved below them. A pedestal sat in the far corner away from the other furniture with an enormous ancient-looking tomb atop it. Adorning the walls was a painting showing Number Twelve from what looked like the park across the street, and a single portrait hanging over the entrance of a tall dark man with equally dark eyes and neat short black hair, which Harry only now realized was eyeing him intently.

Darting his eyes once more around the room and only adding two doors to his description, Harry turned his attention to the portrait. Deciding to be polite and formal, Harry spoke to the somewhat intimidating man, "Hello sir, my name is Lord Harry James Potter-Black, head of the Most Noble and Ancient Houses of Potter and Black. Who are you?"

Eyebrows rose in surprise at hearing two family names but the man gave an approving(?) nod, and replied, "Quite the power block you've got there young man. You may call me Tristan. As to who I am, well, I was born in a small village in Russia. My mother was forced into marriage with my father, a man who lost his first love to his own family and resented the both of us for that, for our very existence. The world was a freer place back then, and after my mother…well, I left. I am the first Black."

Harry, still very disoriented, took a step back at the unexpected introduction. "You started the line?" He asked in a somewhat breathless voice. Not even the Tapestry went back that far. "Aye. And I must say that I am both disappointed and very proud of where it has gone."

Needing some time to get his bearings, Harry inquired as to the purposes of the room, more as a distraction than anything else.

"Well, this is a very special room, and is only accessible to the rightful Head of Black, and not even he may bring others inside." Well, that explained the sudden appearance of it, then. "This is the Head's Sanctuary. A place of safety in times of need. It's warded to High Heaven and back. It is also a seat from which to monitor the entire estate." As he said this, he gestured to the orbs. "Each shows the status of a Black holding or property. The color and brightness is indicative of the structure, type, and power of the wards. Tap the orb with your wand, and a real-time view of the place will be displayed on the painting. You may cycle through a number of views, and the last details anything of note." Harry tapped the largest orb, and sure enough, the painting changed from Number Twelve to an aerial view of Black Manor in Moscow. In a sort of childlike wonder, Harry played around with them for awhile, Tristan looking on amused and a bit smug that his invention had garnered such a reaction.

Harry even came across one that must be hidden in a shadowed corner of the Black Family Vault. He turned to Tristan and exclaimed incredulously, "How the hell did you get one in Gringotts?" Tristan gave a rapturous grin and replied, "Alas, I cannot claim credit for that one, the bank was built after my time. But we are a sly bunch, no? I believe old Arcturus was the one who was able to slip the viewing crystal in there about eight hundred years ago." Harry shook his head disbelievingly. "So, what about that book then?" he asked, nodding towards the pedestal. "Ah, that has to do with the other function of the Sanctuary." There was a moment's silence, but Tristan didn't seem to be forthcoming. "Which is?" Harry prompted. Overall, something he liked about the Blacks was that they were very straightforward; well, with the exception of Narcissa, but she'd been corrupted by the Malfoys to play politics. On the other hand, if Tristan really was the first Black, and Harry believed him on that, then he had been a portrait for a very long time. So, by that reasoning, Harry could forgive him his dramatics.

"The hoarding of sensitive knowledge and objects. Through the door by the bed is the Black Head's personal library. It contains everything we don't want to risk to the library or vaults. You'll find books on the Black Battle Magic, of which only poor imitation is left today; as well as grimoires, journals, all material from those who were Masters or otherwise gifted, and finally historical accounts told by your ancestors." By this time, Harry was gaping at Tristan, who looked as if he was rather enjoying himself. "Through the second door next to the desk, are all the heirlooms and other objects that need care." At Harry's inquisitive look the painting elaborated, "If a property is abandoned, or the object is in danger of being stolen or destroyed, it is automatically summoned here. Needless to say, it is rather full at the moment." A picture of Molly Weasley on a rampage flashed through Harry's mind and he let out a sardonic snort.

Harry gave the Room of Stuff, as he had mentally dubbed it, a good walk through. There was lots of junk; even more things that he resolved never to come within five feet of just because of how sinister it all felt. There was a large golden locket, a huge ornate mirror with writing he couldn't decipher, old weapons and armor, lots of muggle still-life paintings-you name it, the Room of Stuff had multiple copies of it.

Going back into the main room, Tristan continued to explain the book to Harry. "It's the registry. Every book, heirloom, lost trinket-everything; it's all logged in the book. Furthermore, there is also a record kept of the magical signatures of everyone who has ever entered a Black property. See that orb on the cover?" Indeed there was a clear, rather flat gemstone on the cover of the book. "Well, it works the same way with the painting. Hmm, I think that's about it, except some warding schematics, family secrets, and the like. It's very valuable, and therefore cannot be removed from the pedestal. My uncle did the enchantments himself, and let me assure you they will not break." He said this with a hard look on his face, and Harry raised his hands defensively, "I wouldn't dream of trying." Tristan nodded. "Good."

'_And of course, I would find all this on the day before we have to leave'_ As if sensing his thoughts, Tristan Black lifted an eyebrow and said, "Take a mirror."

"Huh?" Eloquent.

"In the second room. Behind the big mirror are a few shrunken travel ones. If you take one with you, you can use it to travel here, and from here to any of the Black properties or holdings. Directions are in the Registry. It is a much more pleasant experience than Floo travel, but we have the patent locked down."

"Oh, wow. That's pretty cool, thanks. So I guess I had better go, but I look forward to talking with you." Yes, world, Harry Potter was overwhelmed. By a portrait and a room. Well, he was also still on his magical energy high; this place was literally singing with ambient magic, and he needed to backpedal out of there ASAP, as interesting as it was. Either way, he'd been down here long enough, and didn't want to have to make up excuses as to where he had been. As he prepared to leave Tristan replied, "As do I, young Master Black."

And with that, Harry left to go find Daphne, shrunken mirror in his pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Yes, my characters are gonna be super-powerful and do really cool magical things. Only thing is, most of them will be like that to some degree. I mean, come on, the most basic education has them spending seven years of their life for ten months of the year learning magic. And they all come out with only a handful of spells? And like zero magical theory? Really?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it. It's not even something I occasionally pretend to own. So don't sue me.

**Ch. 4: Who is Sophie Valacroix?**

**-unknown pov-**

In a threadbare room there stood but one table directly in the center with a single black cauldron placed upon it. The walls were a soft grey, scrubbed over so many times as to appear whitewashed. They spoke of heavy use throughout the years. Absolutely covering two of the walls were shelves containing all sorts of ingredients, ladles, knives, scales, thermometers and the like. The third wall held a large muggle classroom style clock and the rest was covered in parchment for convenient note-taking. Lastly was just an open window, through which the ocean could be seen off in the distance over a brief thicket of trees. The gentle warm breeze drifting in kept away the drowsiness from fumes as well as the mistake-inducing, claustrophobia-replicating, all-encompassing greasy heat.

Tending the cauldron was an eleven year old girl whose thick, slightly curly red hair was tied back with a gold ribbon, and whose sleeves were pushed past her elbows. She was intelligent and skilled, and no stranger to hard work. After all, being raised by who she was raised by, she would be loved, accepted unconditionally, and protected no matter what. But neither would she be spoiled, arrogant, or assuming. And he had seen to that, that she would be nothing less than her best. Any child of his, adoptive or otherwise, wouldn't _not _be able to handle the world and anything it threw at her with a calm cool and a patronizing smile. Experienced crystal blue eyes observed the flow of the liquid as it swirled, a flick of Vinewood and Alicanto heartstring and a mumbled word adding a few scribbles to the third wall.

She had been so excited when on her birthday, four years ago; her uncle had told her that he would be crafting her wand that day, her first wand. She, like all kids, had been worried nothing would choose her, but she needn't have worried. It came out to be eleven inches exactly with a beautiful vine motif wound from the handle almost to the tip. Vinewood, her uncle had said, had a penchant for finesse and the obscure, but was also mischievous. "A very fun wood." he had proclaimed with a twinkle in his eyes and a knowing look to her. "I almost fear what this wand is going out into the world to do." But laughing, he had just continued to whittle away. On top of that, when she learned that the core had been one of the potentials for her uncles True Wand, but was unable to be used, she had looked at it in awe and was ecstatic she could be connected to her guardian in this way. Then she had been worried for a few minutes near the end because she remembered when her friend Jessica, who was the daughter of someone who worked for her uncle, had told her when she got her first wand; she had been supervised for years and only allowed to do a few basic spells. But when her uncle finally finished and the polish dried, he had just winked and handed her the wand with a "have fun." That was the great thing about her uncle, he understood. After all, he really wasn't that much older, and being on his own through most growing experiences, he got things other adults just didn't, and she loved him all the more for it. And when at dinner that night everyone had purple hair they couldn't quite reverse (Uncle Ori probably could but didn't bother) he had just shrugged and said "it's a bonding experience." He wasn't actually her uncle, but they were related somehow and it was so much easier calling him uncle. Thank God he was there to take her in, otherwise…no. Don't think about that.

Just as the girl was about to turn the ladle clockwise, a man stepped from the shadows in the corner of the room and nonchalantly lobbed in some slimy tentacle of some kind.

Not phased in the least, she poured in some dissolution, and hooked the offending…thing. If it was sea-based she could definitely use this. She dropped it in a salt container and rolled it around a bit. When it started hissing and fizzling, she lined it around the lip of the cauldron and used a spell to have it roll in all at once. The man nodded approvingly at this.

Once the unidentified potion had settled and turned violet, she turned down the flame to let it simmer and placed a timed stasis on it.

Finally the man spoke up, "So, are you sure Hogwarts…" At the girl's exasperated glare he trailed off and held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Ok, ok, your decision and all that."

"Yes, uncle. Everything is picking up in Britain, and they're going to need us." She stated matter-of-factly. The man merely arched an eyebrow at the 'us' part, but didn't comment. It was safer for his ego that way. She had definitely picked up his sharp tongue over the years, where fact and opinion no longer matter, just what she says is accepted or lesser men run crying. She had once told off his right hand man in front of everyone-**everyone**. The unshakable Russian had gapped open-mouthed for a full ten minutes before giving in and letting her have his chair next to her uncle. Ever since then she was his favorite little godchild. Literally, they had filled out the paperwork and everything.

"Besides, there'll be plenty of people my age there to make friends with," here she got an innocent, childishly excited gleam in her eyes, and he was briefly reminded she was only eleven and he smiled, "and even if it's not the top school, it is one of the best." This was true. _Logical with a qualifier, how very Ravenclawish_. "After all your stories, I just **have** to see it for myself." _Why, you little snake_. "I want to meet more of the family, and you shouldn't be avoiding them either mister." She proclaimed the last with her hands on her hips. _Damn French blood_.

"And you know it's not like I won't be safe. I know there's no way in hell you won't be around." _Ah_. He put on a sheepish expression, but she could tell it was all for show. _'Stupid, unrepentant, overprotective bastard.' _she thought fondly.

"Ok and the curriculum shouldn't be any problem for you." She snorted at that; he had been personally teaching her since she was like five. There was never a schedule, and a lesson with her uncle could never be called boring. It's amazing what interest does for retention. She could probably compete with the O.W.L. students. "Or maybe it will." At her confused look he continued casually, "if you want any chance at saving your potion, you really need to be adding the porcupine quills about now."

Her eyes went wide and she spun around, throwing loose several locks of hair to fall in front of her face. Indeed, her cauldron was smoking and rattling on the table. Her uncle's chuckles ringing in her ears, she went to soothe the concoction. _Stupid…_

Harry exited his rooms in the North tower and started heading down towards the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast. Wearing plain black but maneuverable robes he swept down the corridor in a very Snape-like fashion. A lot of his old friends didn't like when he did that, but he thought it was just bloody cool, so screw them.

Comparing himself how he was now to how he was when he left the bank all those years, Harry still got a deep sense of satisfaction for all that he had accomplished. He was certainly an above-average wizard now. Nearly on Dumbledore's level, actually. Really, he had busted his arse to get here. And _still_ Voldemort was better. Harry knew he wasn't alone anymore, but it still felt to everyone that they were just holding out against the Dark Lord's offense. Raids had increased, kidnappings becoming more common as Snape informed the Order that Voldemort was experimenting in a very gruesome fashion. A shiver ran down Harry's spine as he thought of the fate of those poor muggles and muggleborns. They didn't even know the purposes to the 'experiments'. Needless to say, a lot of people were uneasy.

And then there was when they dueled. The very few times Harry had faced the Dark Lord alone, when the Headmaster was otherwise occupied, it had been…humbling, to say the least. He could sense they were very close in terms of raw power, but all could clearly see his experience shine through. Voldemort didn't tire out as fast, and often had counters and traps ready for every situation. He needed an edge. They all did; desperately.

Reaching the third floor Harry began the trek to the grand staircase, memories ghosting conscious thoughts as he looked about the corridor. All the old adventures still brought an easy smile to his lips, they were simpler times and the golden trio was very much full and strong. _'But there's always light in the darkness' _he told himself in a sagely voice, something the Headmaster said on occasion. He was finally starting to really repair his friendship with Ron and Hermione and that made him happier than he would admit out loud.

_Ah well, life goes on_ he thought as he slid into a seat next to Daphne and across from Pilos who gave a nod in greeting. He gave his future-wife a kiss on the cheek and she leaned into his shoulder, both sitting back to watch the sorting of the nervous-looking soon-to-be first years.

"Valacroix, Sophie." McGonagall called and a cute little girl with red hair done up with loose ribbons and a soft smile on her face stepped forward. She had clear blue eyes and next to all the British in attendance her tan really stood out well. This prompted a number of reactions. Pilos, who hadn't been paying the least bit of attention to the Sorting, as per usual, immediately began choking on his water and sputtering. The twins had gone completely still and wide-eyed. Even the Headmaster's eyebrows rose in surprise. Everyone else, however, either hadn't noticed or were looking at the four in confusion.

The girl walked happily up to the stool and put the hat on with a flourish. After about a minute or so the hat let out a quiet chuckle followed a few seconds later by the proclamation of "Hufflepuff!"

She proceeded to the cheering table with a spring in her step. Halfway there she turned towards Pilos and smirked at him. After a second and with a wink, she sat down.

Pilos, who had until then just been gaping at the girl, broke out of his reverie and started clapping, followed shortly by his brothers.

Harry was watching with a raised eyebrow; "Uh, Py…what was that?" Not much could rattle the calm and collected Ravenclaw, and Harry was pretty sure he'd never seen a Hufflepuff smirk before.

Daphne leaned forward, listening as well. "I think…I think we're related." He answered slowly, as if still considering.

Indeed, if Pilos was honest with himself, that little stunt was all the confirmation he really needed, but….how? And more importantly….**why**? "I'll talk to you guys later, there's a little family business I must discus with my brothers, sorry." With an apologetic glance he rushed over to where the twins were, uncharacteristically, sat in a gaggle of Gryffindors. They were completely ignoring them and whispering furiously to each other, much to the ire of Hermione, who happened to be going quite steady with Castor for the past few months.

Pilos went right up to them and, without missing a beat, cast a privacy bubble, following his brothers' example and ignoring Hermione's murderous glare. "Well, what do you think?" asked Pollux immediately, cutting right to the chase, eager to hear his brother's take on this unexpected turn of events.

"She's in the Family, of that I have no doubt. That kind of confidence and grace in an eleven year old girl? No, she's been raised a Valacroix through and through." The youngest Matrell put forth confidently. "The thing off about this to me is something else."

"What do you mean?" Castor asked cautiously, leaving no doubt he knew exactly what Pilos was talking about, and had actually noticed himself. Pilos nodded and said "The hat laughing, that smirk, the little confident charm that pulls people in (he nodded to where the girl, Sophie, was engaging every one of her year mates in an active conversation), is all just screaming Orion, but I just don't get why in the world…" he trailed off, and there was a contemplative silence for a few moments.

"So, what should we do?" Pollux asked quietly.

"Keep an eye on her, see what we notice, and wait. If nothing else, we can corner her in a few days."

Receiving two nods of agreement, Pilos silently brought down the ward he had put up and wandered back to his place across from Harry and Daphne. However, he was quiet and distracted the rest of the meal. People tried to get his attention a few times, but his thoughts were on his older brother, a man he hadn't seen in nearly a decade.


End file.
